


mend

by needsmoreyellow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-10-01 16:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needsmoreyellow/pseuds/needsmoreyellow
Summary: “Honestly I’m surprised Martin isn’t… Oh, God, the plan— Martin— Is, is he okay? What did Elias do?”“Nothing. Elias is locked up — bunch of Sectioned officers took him in. Martin’s fine, Georgie dragged him out for lunch an hour ago. He’s— Well, he’s practically been living here.”





	mend

**Author's Note:**

> this is absolutely shameless self indulgence and alternate titles for this fic include: 1.) I Just Binged This Podcast In 2 Weeks And Needed This To Live 2.) I Wrote This For Me But You Can Look At It If You Want

“Honestly I’m surprised Martin isn’t… Oh, God, the plan— Martin— Is, is he okay? What did Elias do?”

“Nothing. Elias is locked up — bunch of Sectioned officers took him in. Martin’s fine, Georgie dragged him out for lunch an hour ago. He’s— Well, he’s practically been living here.”

“Wait, Martin’s plan _ worked?_”

“Yeah... Look, Jon, you should know, before he gets back… It’s not really my business, but just, this whole thing with you, it hit Martin...hard. And his mum died a couple months ago—”

“Oh… _ God_, really?”

“Yeah, it’s...it’s been rough. He still comes into work, tries to stay strong, but that sort of thing, well. Just, well. Maybe try not to be _ too much _of an arse, hm?”

“What? Of course, I wouldn’t—”

“Good. Like I said, not my business, but.”

She gestured, vaguely, and Jon followed the sweep of her arms. There were books stacked up on a table next to the bed, journals and pencils and crossword puzzles torn from newspapers; a chair pulled in close to the bed with a familiar shoulder bag and what looked like spare clothes and a toothbrush.

Oh.

“...Thank you, Basira. I uh, guess we should let one of the nurses know I’m awake—”

The door jerked and clicked, and the quiet cacophony of footsteps and murmuring in the hall reached a crescendo and then fell silent again as Martin entered, carrying a white to-go cup. He kicked the door shut behind him with the casual confidence of someone who was entering their own flat, already talking before he’d even really looked in Basira’s direction.

“Georgie had to go, but I brought you some coffee from the place across the—”

Even in shock, Martin was a sight for sore eyes. There were lines of grief and exhaustion around his eyes so deep that Jon couldn’t see where they ended or began, a six-month heaviness to his shoulders, but he was wearing Jon’s favourite jumper, and the warm lilt of his voice made Jon feel as though he could breathe properly for the first time since waking up.

The coffee cup hit the ground hard and exploded in his periphery, but Jon couldn’t take his eyes off of Martin’s face.

“_Jon. _”

“Martin.”

Basira sighed. “I actually could have gone for coffee, if I’m being honest. I’ll... get someone to clean this up. Water, Jon?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Her shoes squeaked slightly as she stepped around the puddle on the floor, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Martin’s legs were shaking hard enough that he almost fell as he began edging closer. Jon had seen him in all sorts of ways over the years, face to face with horrors unimaginable by most, and he had _ assumed _until this point that he had seen all that there was to see as far as Martin’s emotions went, but the noise that came out of Martin’s throat as he sat on the edge of the bed spoke of something that Jon couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“_Jon, _” He said again.

Jon could feel the corners of his mouth turning up on their own accord. “I’m pretty sure that it’s me, yes.”

Martin laughed, and then he sobbed, and then he laughed, and then he sobbed, and sobbed, and Jon’s heart felt too warm and too big for his body.

“Are y-you _ alright? _ Do you feel okay? What happened, I-I didn’t unders-_stand_, it’s been—”

“I-I don’t really...understand it either, if I’m being honest. Well, I kind of do. But I feel fine? I feel great, actually. Basira brought me a statement, and it uh, helped.”

Martin made another awful sound, quieter this time like he was swallowing it back. Jon watched him reach up and fumble to wipe his face with his sleeves, fighting against the shaking in his hands. He thought about Martin sitting in this room, every day after work, with only an empty flat or an empty office to go back to, writing poetry while Jon lay lifeless in front of him.

_ Christ. _

He swallowed past the roughness in his throat. “But what about you? Are you— I mean, did Elias...hurt you? Are you okay?”

“Me? Y-yeah, I’m— I’m fine, Jon, it’s been _ months, _”

“I know, I know, that’s just. It’s fresh for me, so.”

“R-right— Fuck, sorry. This is a l-lot for you, I know, I’m sorry, I’ll stop soon,”

“No, hey, it’s… Hey, Martin,”

“S-sorry, _ sorry_, I’m trying—”

“No, that’s not— Don’t be ridiculous, Martin, that’s not—” Martin was, if anything, shaking even harder now. Jon’s eyes were starting to sting, but he cleared his throat and blinked the feeling away. “Just… Here. Come here, okay?”

They had never done this before, despite everything. Jon had watched Martin cling to Sasha and Tim at Christmas parties when he was red-faced with alcohol, and noted all the casual touches that someone with his softness could give at work without being questioned. But there had always been a, well, what Jon had deemed a ‘_professional distance’ _between them. Martin had always flinched and apologized when he reached to fix Jon’s collar without thinking, and Jon had never corrected him.

But right here, right now, Jon hadn’t even gotten the words out before he had a nose full of Martin’s curls. Martin’s arms wound tight around him, his usually gentle hands grabbing fistfuls of Jon’s hospital gown, and his ear was pressed to Jon’s heartbeat with a frantic desperation that was, again, new.

Seeing Martin shake and _ feeling _ Martin shake turned out to be two very different experiences, one which was considerably more _ real _ than the other. Jon was out of practice with hugs, wasn’t sure if he’d ever been _ in _ practice, but he wrapped Martin up as best he could, squeezed the back of his neck with one hand to keep him tucked close, and Martin heaved a great, shuddering breath against his chest.

Jon blamed delirium on how eagerly he pressed his face into Martin’s hair.

God, he was so tired. How was he so tired after being _ dead _ for so long?

“It’s alright, now.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m sor— You didn’t have a heartbeat, you know? Didn’t really have anything, but the heartbeat was definitely the weirdest.”

“Basira...filled me in, yeah.”

“Oh. How...long were you awake?”

“Not long, not long, maybe twenty minutes.”

“I-I can’t believe the _ one t-time _I was out—”

“The _ one time? _”

“Okay, well not… _ really_, I just. You know what I mean. I...would have rather been here.”

“I know,” He moved his thumb absently over the short hairs on the back of Martin’s neck, and Martin sniffed. “I…Look, we can talk later if you want but... I heard about Tim and Daisy. And about your mother. Christ, Martin, I am _ so _sorry.”

“It’s— Thank you. It, well. It hasn’t been alright, really, but. Not your fault.”

“That’s...debatable,”

“It is _ not_,”

“I’m just, I’m sorry. That you’ve— What I mean is,”

“It’s _ not _ your fault, Jon. I’ve been...okay? You needed time, that’s all. I’m not going to be mad that you were _ in a coma_. I mean, yeah, I was mad, but at those _ things_, not at you.”

“...Martin,”

“It’s not— You _ died, _ Jon. _ Proper _ died. If it weren’t for all the tests and the, the scans showing that your _ brain _ was active we would have— _ I _would have—”

His voice pitched up and cracked, struggling under the weight of more tears that Jon couldn’t see. Where they pressed together he could feel Martin’s heart starting to go rabbit-fast with panic.

“Okay, _ okay_, alright, Martin, shhh. Shh, I’m sorry, let’s not dwell on it

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to stop I’m just— I’m _ really _glad you’re back.”

“...Yeah, me too.”

Jon didn’t think anyone had _ ever _been this happy to see him. Granted, he had never died and come back to life, and these were very specific circumstances, but the more they stayed like this, with Martin nuzzling into his chest and the hollow of his throat, the more aware Jon became of every tiny hitched noise that Martin made every time he felt or heard Jon’s pulse, as though he was witnessing a miracle.

There were certain things, human things, that took Jon longer than others to notice. Martin had been one of them. It was almost funny in its irony, how much time and effort Jon had put into keeping Martin at arms-length, and now.

And now.

Martin was sniffling and settling against him as though he intended to stay. If it weren’t for the looming threat of Basira and hospital staff, Jon absolutely would have let him.

He pulled away just enough to see Martin’s face, eyes bright and shining and red around the edges, looking like an absolute mess of a man. Martin honest-to-God _ whined _ over it and Jon smothered a laugh; reached between them to brush away the hair sticking to Martin’s wet cheeks.

“What I was trying to say earlier was _ thank you, _Martin.”

“Oh. What...for, exactly? I mean, aside from the Elias thing, which you don’t need to _ thank me _for, I’ve just kind of been—”

“It’s a long list, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

Martin laughed, then. He let go of Jon enough to smooth his hands down the front of his chest, as though anything he did could fix the wrinkles in his gown. Jon hadn’t seen his dimples yet, and had a feeling that it would take a while and probably some sleep for them to appear.

“...Basira will be back soon, and they’re going to need to run some tests I’m sure to, to make sure that I’m not a zombie, but uh. I know you just ate lunch, but I could go for some, some proper food, if you aren’t...busy,”

“Jon.”

“Right. Yeah, so, lunch? Talking? I can...work on that list,”

“Lunch sounds...good, yeah,”

“Yeah.”

He could hear Basira, faintly, coming down the hallway, like a pressure at the back of his skull. Ten seconds until she came in, hospital coffee in hand and nurses in tow.

Nine seconds. Eight seconds. Seven seconds. Martin was still smoothing out wrinkles on his chest.

Six seconds. Five seconds.

Jon said nothing of it, let the excuse of exhaustion pull him forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Martin’s brow. Martin stopped breathing entirely, choked slightly on the congestion in his throat and stuttered out the beginning of a question that Jon had no time to answer.

Jon pulled away and caught Martin’s eye. The door opened, and Jon smiled.

Martin smiled back.

Jon could see could see his dimples.

**Author's Note:**

> [crawls out of a well] find me on twitter at [@smoreyellow](https://twitter.com/smoreyellow) fluctuating wildly between hyperfixations as I try to fight off the agony that season 4 has caused me,,,


End file.
